Now it can be told.
For a chilling few hours just a bit back, that important finger on my left hand felt naked.
I was sitting at dinner with terrific daughter Elisabeth and George Three, settling down at our table in the Retreat, when I looked down when something felt a bit off.
No wedding ring.
Alarm? More than a little bit. This actually is wedding band No. 2, you see, replacement purchased by my dear wife Karen because I’d lost the original, say, five years past our elopement to Niagara Falls.
I looked in the inside of my glove. I’d shoveled our front walk in anticipation of their arrival for this mid-week dinner outing.
I retraced my steps from the passenger seat in her car to our table in the Village of Liverpool restaurant.
OK. We talked. I’d go over my steps when they left me off back home.
I’d text Elisabeth when (or if!) I’d find it. For once I felt OK that Karen was in the midst of her weekdays stay in Schenectady for this 12-week stint as a sterile technician traveler.
Search I did.
Around my car in the driveweay? Nope.
On the shoveled front walk? Nope.
Living room flooor? Kitchen floor? Bedroom floor. Bedroom dresser? Cracks of my recliner chair? Did you see my wedding ring, cherished rescue mutt Ellie B?
George and I had double-teamed that 50-pound bag to fill Ellie’s dog food bin to the brim.
I started scooping the dry food out into the biggest bowls I could find.
Two-thirds down, something shiny caught my eye!
Upon her weekend return, Karen and I visited nearby mall Destiny USA. A kiosk worker was glad to place one of those handy sizer-guards on my wedding ring.
I feel much, much better about the chances of it remaining where it’s supposed to stay now.
I am one of those guys that keeps the band on at all times …